End Transmission
by Quaxo
Summary: **NEW CHAPTER 8/21** Ten years after Zim realizes the truth of his mission, The Mighty Irkens are at war with the Planetjackers, and Zim heads for home for more than one reason R/R
1. End Transmission

AN: I own only the plot here, Jhonen Vasquez and Nickelodeon own all recognizable characters, places, etcetera. I am merely a lowly table-head service drone who's saved up enough monies to buy herself a small clunky computer on which to type.  
  
End Transmission,  
by Quaxo  
  
  
It had not come like this filthy planet's thunder and lightening --- loud and surprising. It had not hit him like this disgusting planet's oceany waves of pain.   
  
It had come to him like this planet's primitive way lighting a room, like a flick of a switch. Where there was darkness, there suddenly was light --- only without the dramatic orchestra banging loudly in the background.  
  
Perhaps he'd been living with these dirty humans for too long. Their whole society functioned on subtle signs. He'd learned in the few Earth years he'd been here that the best way to convince them that he was not an alien or in any way different than them was to not mention it all. Denial, in human eyes, was as good as a confession of guilty.  
  
He'd moved up slightly in the social chain when he'd stopped denying his alien heritage. Away from the 'weirdo' section and into the 'just bizzare' section with Dib's younger sister Gaz. While not associated with freely, he didn't recieve damaging blows to his superior organs with the recess balls either. They feared him, and that was all he asked for.  
  
While he had gotten very good at reading the human's second language, it had taken him ages to translate that knowledge into his communications with the Tallest.  
  
Their smugness he had always justified as the fact that they were a higher being than him and his fellow, shorter, Irkens. Their condescending tone towards him was merely his own fault, he had not yet conquered Earth... The fact he had not recieved any support from the Armada since he had arrived here was only because the Tallest had faith that he could accomplish this mission on his own, and they had sent the Armada to assist those 'weaker' Invaders...  
  
The realization that the Tallest had no actual interest in Earth, that this whole mission had been a way to get **rid** of him without resorting to homicide, had --- had hurt. However, in a way some part of him (who'd been unfortunately silent until the crushing blow had been delivered...) had known and had been preparing him for such a moment.  
  
It had been revealed to him through no fault of the Tallest. They had treated him with the usual disdain and mocking cruelty that had always been apart of their conversations.  
  
The glint in their eyes was what had tipped him off. It was not interest, or even boredom with his report, but amusement. He was informing them he had failed, once more, to overthrow the humans, or even defeat the measley Dib-pig. This was something they should not have found funny...  
  
He had asked, out of nowhere, what exactly they planned to actually **do** with Earth, once he'd decimated the wildlife. They'd looked at him blankly then, and it only confirmed the suspiscions he wished he wasn't having.  
  
"I'm supposed to die here, aren't I?" He'd asked flatly. The Tallest looked shocked and since they could not quickly enough form a placating excuse, they opted, for once, on the truth.  
  
"Yes, yes you are, Zim." Red had scowled. He seemed to have given them a questioning look, because the Tallest continued, "You wreak havoc wherever you go Zim. You nearly destroyed all of Conventia during Impending Doom One. If Tak is to be believed, than you also shut down half the testing system on Devastis, mis-sorting thousands of possible Invaders. There's simply no place in the Irken military for a fool like you."  
  
He'd cut the connection then, out of a smeet-like way of trying to deny what he was hearing. It was bitter marlorian to eat, to know that his efforts to serve the Tallest to the best of his capacity were thought of with shame or patronization.  
  
He had not a clue of what to do with himself now. Preparing Earth for an invasion was moot, and he'd never desired to actually rule over Earth. He supposed he could still venture out in the Universe, but he'd rather not be mocked wherever he went.  
  
There was no real reason to leave Earth. His vast superiority over these humans would ensure he could live quite comfortably. Not that he needed it: the Tallest might have wanted him dead, but they were not going to dirty their hands to do it, although it would be wise to find some alternatives to depending totally on those who despised him.  
  
He could survive here --- perhaps he would not be happy, but living and breathing beat dead hands down anyday.  
  
Even if he did have to share his air with these pathetic humans.  
  
******************  
  
Inspiration pulls me to continue this... I don't know though. I tried to be true to Zim's character... but if you guys think I wasn't, please tell me! Any suggestions are GREATLY appreciated, and will be considered equal to an order from the Tallest! 


	2. Work Day Blues

AN: I own only the plot here, Jhonen Vasquez and Nickelodeon own all recognizable characters, places, etcetera. I am merely a lowly table-head service drone who's saved up enough monies to buy herself a small clunky computer on which to type.  
  
  
  
Chapter One: Work Day Blues  
  
He scowled at the seemingly endless lines of code that shone at him through the computer screen. So inferior... these humans were **STILL** doing a majority of their programing by **hand**. It was maddeningly boring.  
  
He heaved a great sigh, and rubbed between his eyes. The holographic projection made it appear that he was rubbing the bridge of his nose. It had been inspired by Tak's system, but he'd made vast improvements on it, such as the addition of the chameleon cloak, which made it possible for him to hide anywhere he wished by it's ability to impersonate any background. Not as fancy as the invisibility cloak on the Megadoomer, but it made up for it in how energy effiecent it was.  
  
"Hey, Zim!" The perky blonde floor secretary, Alana Yellow, chirped. She reminded him a lot of Keef on days like today... there were a lot of days like today. "Did you hear?"  
  
"Nothing besides your incessant buzzing." He grumbled, and she looked at him blankly for a moment, before shaking her head.  
  
"The new president's coming in today!"  
  
At this he blinked. He had heard the rumors around the staff lounge. Talks of pink slips and getting 'laid off'. He'd heard of slips before --- and he pulled out one from a drawer in his desk.  
  
"I suppose I should wear this then?"  
  
He held out to her a frilly pink concoction that he'd found in the department store last night.   
  
She took one look at the slip and burst into hysterical laughter.  
  
"Oh, Zim, you're so funny!"  
  
He blinked, and gave a false smile, before stashing the female undergarment in his drawer again.  
  
"I've got to get back to work!" She chirped again and left.   
  
Right, like she did any *REAL* work, he thought to himself. She just gossiped on the phone, and then lost important files. He turned back to his coding.  
  
He reached over and pulled out his dictionary, and decided to look up this 'pink slip' since they obviously weren't going to make him wear female underwear like he'd feared.  
  
pink slip /n/ slang: a slip given to employees informing them that they have been fired from their jobs. --pt: pink slipped  
  
He blinked, as he snapped the dictionary shut and returned it to it's proper place on the shelves, and supposed he should have paid more attention to those memos they'd been giving him, instead of wadding them up and playing trash can basketball with them. Then he might actually know who this new 'president' was.  
  
He shrugged. He was invaluable to Gameslave Corporation as one of their top programmers. There was no way he was getting pink slipped.  
  
He began to clean up his cubicle, the reason, he told himself, was because it was getting too messy (the night janitor had long since given up on trying to clean the area), **NOT** because he wished to make a good impression on this pathetic new 'president'.   
  
Satisfied that he would not be shamed by the disorderly appearance of his cubicle, he sat down, to stare at the screen blankly. Blackness swarmed in his mind so thickly that he could almost feel it. He felt light of head, dizzy --  
  
He shook his head, and with aggravation slammed in new codes to the system. He hated this inane job. Why hadn't he thought of this when he'd been an Invader? These dirty humans were **slaves** to these games, if he'd merely engineered one that would brainwash them into being his, then he'd never be stuck on this worthless backwater planet typing in senseless numbers!  
  
He gave a growl of irritation, before turning sharply away from the garish screen ---  
  
And found himself staring at a familiar face.  
  
"This, Madame President, is Zim Irken, one of our many designers." Said a stuffy looking 'yes-man' in a dark suit.  
  
The woman before him was tall, with a sharply defined hourglass figure. She wore a suit and skirt of a purple-black that matched the hair currently up behind her head. She wore black wire-rimmed glasses (her constant squinting had taken it's toll), and a white skull shaped lapel pin.  
  
He leaped to his feet, knowing he had to show her respect, she was his boss -- an equivalent to the Tallest --- his squiddely spooch twisted bitterly at the thought of his former leaders.  
  
"Zim, this is Gaz Membrane, our new President."  
  
"I believe we already know each other." She said coldly, not presenting her hand to be shaken.  
  
"I'm sure it will be a pleasure working with you." He said as sincerely-sounding he could, even though he didn't feel like it at all.  
  
"Absolutely." She drawled, not bothering to hide her insincerity.  
  
"There's a staff meeting in five minutes, Zim," The yes-man said with a superior tone, before trailing after Gaz.  
  
He undoubtedly predicted doom for him. He'd trivalized his place in the company, he was one of the **top** designers in this company. He was being blatantly, as the humans logically called it, 'back stabbed'.  
  
He knew what they called him when he wasn't fetching a diet Vanilla Poop! from the refridgerator, and was safely out of earshot. He was the 'Freak', the 'Asshole', the 'Sadistic Computing Genius'. The idea that his fellow co-work-monkeys wanted to get him fired did not surprise him.  
  
Sighing, he headed over to the staff lounge, preparing himself for his so called doom.  
  
His fellow slaves were collected in their also, all looking nervously at each other over their cups of coffee. He walked over the refridgerator, got out his (it was marked with the emblem of the irken armada in permanent pen on the can) Poop! and sat down. Everyone seemed to flinch as he calmly popped the top of the soda. Popping a straw into the mouth of the can, he began to sip it with boredom evident in his eyes.  
  
Gaz entered, her face as cold as he remebered it being as a child. The yes-man preened as he sat down next to Alana, who fawned over him.  
  
"Half of you are fired, and you are: Bobby Yes-man," the yes man's features fell dramatically then, much to Zim's amusement that he only barely hid. "Alana Yellow, Micheal Eisner, Karen Linamen, Randy Scalf, Mark Farm, Mary Moore, and Jack Nickelman. You have all annoyed me, clear out your offices and be out of here by five o'clock tomorrow."  
  
Her amber eyes suddenly focussed on him, he wondered, then, what she had in store for him...  
  
"Zim, your team, I understand, is working on Poop!Dog Supa Dupa Gangsta Challenge Five?"  
  
"Yes, m'am."  
  
"Dump that project. I've got the specs of a game I want you all to start programming immediately. It's got to be out, according to Sales, this November," She checked her watch. "That's precisely five months from now."  
  
Everyone looked at her at varying levels of shock and panic.  
  
"Well?" She snarled, her teeth shining in the flourescent lights. "Get to work! I want that Poop!Dog shit out of the hard drives immediately! Leave no traces!"  
  
People scrambled to get out of the room. Zim stayed behind, the glint in Gaz's eyes telling him that she had more words to share with him.  
  
"I didn't think you'd end up working here." She frowned slightly at him, measuring him up it seemed. He sighed, his brain meats already throbbing at the enormous prospect ahead of him.  
  
"Amazing how this filthy planet works." He said sourly.  
  
"Yes. My brother was quite disappointed when you moved away."  
  
"Why? Did the human supremicist miss me?"  
  
"You could say that. You certainly made things more interesting."  
  
"I'm sorry to deprive you of amusement."  
  
"Here's the specs for Vampire Piggie Hunter Platinum. Hand them out to your team, and get to work immediately. I believe that's all." She shoved a large folder of paper at him, and he took his unsubtle to leave.  
  
Why him? Poop!Dog Supa Dupa Challenge had been almost finished... it was sixth months of his life... and it was all disappearing with the click of the delete button.  
  
He stopped at one of his underling's cubicles. "Stan." He snapped, glaring shiftily at the posters of a bleach blonde rapper that coated the walls.  
  
"Yeah, Zim?" Stan tried to glare at him, but only at his chest. He'd not worked up enough courage to give him a glare to the eyes. He'd lost miserably the first time he'd tried.  
  
"Here's the new spec that the President wants done. You hand them out, I'm leaving." He tossed the heavy folder at Stan, and left. He could hear Stan mutter 'Mudda Fooken Beeyatch' as he left, and could not decide if it was aimed at him or their new President.  
  
He snatched his coat from the hook inside his cubicle, and headed into the elevator. It was a fairly nice day outside, although he did not enjoy or even notice.  
  
With determination he made his way towards the new location of his home. His green house still had it's eerie backlighting, and pufferfish lawn ornaments. The lawn gnomes were still on active duty, although they rarely did anything.  
  
In this part of town it was wise to put a lock on the door, he'd learned, as he fished out his keys. People had tried to steal things when he'd first arrived, but G.I.R. had trapped them, and they became, forcefully, his 'new friends'. In many aspects G.I.R. was worse that Keef in his devotion. After he'd rescued the humans from G.I.R. he'd installed a lock on the doorway to keep G.I.R. away from the foolish humans who'd try to rob it. G.I.R. was now forced to use what the earth-monkeys termed a 'doggy door', and he didn't seem to mind.  
  
His nearly indestructable Irken body throbbed with fatigue. He stumbled his way to the couch, not caring that G.I.R. was sitting there engaged in watching PBO, and fell onto it.  
  
"Hi!" G.I.R. screamed, and petted his antennae. He moaned an incoherent word of greeting, follwed by an order to turn down the volume, before his eyes slid shut.  
  
******************  
  
When he woke up again it was early in the morning hours, which made it still dark out. Rubbing his eyes, he still felt exhausted. He groaned and turned over onto his other side, throwing an arm carelessly over his eyes to block out the dim lights.  
  
"Wakey, Wakey, Zim." Soemone said, and he was then, undoubtedly, awake.  
  
He'd sat up with a sharp jerk, and his head hurt as the blood flowed away from it. Through his blurry sleep-hazed vision he could make out the face that he'd not seen in nearly ten years --- Dib Membrane's.  
  
"Dib." He snarled out of old habit. "How did you find my base?" He hissed, eyes narrowing.  
  
"Gaz let me have a peek at your employee files. I got your number, and from there it was just a call to directory to get your address." Dib leered at him.  
  
"You know, this *is* considered stalking."  
  
"Who are you going to call? The police will find out that you're an alien --" Dib grinned at him.  
  
"What do you want, Dib?" He sighed, looking at the pattern of the couch with boredom. "I've got to get to work early tomorrow."  
  
"To start your plans for world domination!?!" Dib said dramatically.  
  
"No, to finish dumping files relating to 'Poop!Dog' and then work on the latest godforsaken project your sister has given us." He glared at Dib.   
  
"So, you're not taking over the world?"  
  
"NO, Dib," He said with exasperation. "I got out of that buisness a long time ago." He looked Dib up and down, "You're still a 'paranormal investigator'?" He said with derision. "You work part-time at Bloaty's too don't you?"  
  
"Yes, how did you know?"  
  
"You reek of their disgusting cheese." Zim made a gagging noise. "Now get off of my base." He pointed to the door.  
  
"Why not have your computer escort me out?" Dib looked at him oddly.  
  
"Better yet, why don't I just throw you out by hand." Zim gritted, activating his spider legs, since Dib was much taller than he was now, and tossing the Earthling out the front door. It was quite satisfying, until the legs collapsed beneath him. A quick check notified him that the pack was starting to breakdown again. Sighing, he gathered up the legs in his hands, and headed towards the elevator.  
  
He'd be fixing these things all night... damn.  
  
*********************  
  
Sparks flew as he tried to weld the metal legs back together after repairing the faulty wiring in them.  
  
"Master!" G.I.R. called, and Zim quickly turned his torch off, incase G.I.R. decided to hug him. He didn't wish to ruin any of his work, or set the base on fire.  
  
"I's gots a booboo. KISS IT!" G.I.R. screamed, presenting his head. One of his robotic eyes seemed to have gotten out of joint, and had gone dark. Normally G.I.R. would have been able to fix this himself, it was all apart of S.I.R. programming... however S.I.R.s weren't supposed to last this long... especially when they were made of junk.  
  
The more logical side of him told him he should just deactivate G.I.R. and get it over with. He was nothing but a nuisance, had always been -- but he was a reminder, at least, that he'd been an Invader, or at least thought he had been.  
  
"Hold still G.I.R." He said as he opened his lid, and clutched a flashlight in his teeth. Using nearly microscopic tools he found the broken gear, which he pulled out and bent back into shape.  
  
He cleared out the junk that had collected in there, a Poop!Puff had started the failure it seemed.  
  
"G.I.R., you've got to stop putting stuff in your head."  
  
"Where am I gonna put it then?"  
  
He looked about the room, and spotted the sack he'd used for all his books in college. After the last day of classes he'd set it in here and forgot about it.  
  
He closed up G.I.R. before retriving the bag, beating out the dust and paper stubs, before handing it to G.I.R.  
  
G.I.R immediately tried to put it in his skull.  
  
"NO! What did I just tell you!" He snapped. "Put your things in there." He pointed to the rubber piggy and moose companion.  
  
"Oooooooohhhh..." G.I.R. nodded and began to pack up his things.  
  
Zim sighed and looked at the clock. It was six AM... if he left now, he could arrive at the office near seven, and actually be able to get some work done before the rest of the idiots came in.  
  
"See you tonight G.I.R." He said as he entered the elevator.  
  
"Bring Tacos!"  
  
************************  
  
Well, now we've had a peek at what our favorite Invader's been up to. Dib and Gaz have come into the picture too. 


	3. Safety and Sanity

AN: I own only the plot here, Jhonen Vasquez and Nickelodeon own all recognizable characters, places, etcetera. I am merely a lowly table-head service drone who's saved up enough monies to buy herself a small clunky computer on which to type.  
  
  
  
Chapter Two: Safety and Sanity  
  
  
He enjoyed the walk up the backstairs to work. His cubicle may have been on the tenth floor, and ten flights were quite a ways, but the simple task of climbing them allowed him to focus on something other than how his life had gotten so hideously screwed up. Left foot up, right foot up, left foot up, right foot up, left foot up, right foot up, left foot up, right foot up, on and on it went...  
  
He arrived too soon on his floor, and he sighed as he made his way towards his cubicle prison. Entering it, he groaned at the pile of work to be done that awaited him anxiously on top of his desk.  
  
"Zim, I'd like to see you for a moment." Looking over his shoulder he spotted Gaz, and knew he probably should have just slogged through the rest of the day instead of cutting it early. "Come to my office."  
  
His squeedely spooch twisted as he made his way into the seclusion of her office. It was decorated in ebony-stained wood desks and dark red curtains adorned the walls. It reminded him of one of the stupid Earth stories he'd had to read in Hi Skool.  
  
He took the uncomfortable seat she motioned to as she sat down behind her desk. It was a power play, he recognized it immediately. She was distancing herself from him, as well as setting herself higher than him in her leather chair to assume authority over him.  
  
Something within he felt vaguely angry at that. He quelled it immediately, as it was an unworthy thought in both Irken and the Human culture he'd been forced to adopt.  
  
"So, how's your life been?" Gaz asked with a forced casualness. It was obvious to him that she was uncomfortable talking intimately with anyone. It was just as bizzare to him, because it was so out of character for her.  
  
He didn't like it when things didn't run according to plan... when things weren't as they appeared to be.  
  
"It's been okay, I was sick yesterday..." Zim said slowly, his eyes watching her every move, trying to calculate what was going on behind those cold amber eyes.  
  
"Yeah, that's what Dib said." she said idly, stirring her coffee with a glass rod with a frowny face attached to it. After a moment she looked at him with amusement, and fury started to burn underneath his flesh. "You're not going to rail me out for giving out your private information?"  
  
"I like my job." His eyes narrowed to become half-lidded, an Irken symbol of intense concentration and/or anger.  
  
"You like being the asshole, is what you like. You like having *power* over the other idiots here." There was smug satisfaction in her voice now, and he felt the burn rise to inferno levels. She sipped her coffee placidly. "My advisors think I should have fired you. You don't have the 'team spirit' according to them. Fortunately for you I don't have the 'spirit' either."  
  
The anger levels were so high now that his body throbbed with the mighty need to release his fury upon the foolish human. An eye started to twitch involutarily.  
  
"Yes, very." He gritted out.  
  
"If you're done bothering me," She said with a wave of her hand, "Then you can get back to work now." She turned towards her view of the other skyscrapers outside her window and Zim found he could stomach no more of this.  
  
"How dare you, you disgusting human! I am Invader Zim, member of the Irken Army, one of the thirty elite Invaders!" He shouted, while the voice in the back of his head chanted 'Liar'. "I am older than you in both Irken and Human years! My brain meats are vastly superior than your own! HOW DARE YOU TREAT ME LIKE I AM NOTHING!" He found himself in the end screaming, while the voice told him exactly how she could get away with it: 'You're NOTHING, Zim...'.  
  
Gaz turned to him, with a much more familiar smirk on her face.  
  
"Did it feel better to vent?"  
  
"Engh?" He blinked at her, totally confused by her sudden change in attitude.  
  
"You looked like you needed to vent. You had that 'attitude' that all my old shrinks used to talk about."  
  
He blinked again, humilation settling in his squeedely spooch as he found that he had been so easily read and goaded.  
  
"Yes," He muttered, not meaning it entirely. He did feel better, if only in the very slightest.  
  
"Good. Now go back and start on Vampire Piggy."  
  
This time her dismissal was real, and he headed back to his cubicle.  
  
He sat down and stared at the files. Opening them he wasn't surprised to find that Gaz had written them herself. She'd always been obsessed by videogames that it was almost obvious what she'd choose to be her profession.  
  
He sighed, and began to type in code. The numbers and information came naturally to him. All Irkens had been given advanced programming and mechanical skills. When a society like Irk sent so many people out to the edges of space, they couldn't come to fix every single problem. Converting his knowledge into creating games had been pathetically easy, if a little degrading and insulting.  
  
Time flew so quickly alone in this cubicle. He'd been forced to set up an alarm to remind him when he could leave the building. Thankfully his team had been well trained not to bother him unless it was dreadfully important. Nothing was, fortunately, important today, and so as the alarm rung, he calmly shut down the computer and headed back home.  
  
He hated the ride home on the pipe system. Crowded with sweaty humans, the filth nearly sufforcated him. He'd have to scrub himself extra vigorously tonight, he thought, as someone drooled on him.  
  
************************  
  
Dib was concerned. It was not unusual for him to be concerned. He'd always been concerned about the Earth's welfare if it hadn't been for his vigilance over the skies searching for alien life.  
  
It was abnormal, however, for him to be concerned over the alien he was supposed to be fighting against.  
  
Zim had seemed --- odd, when he'd come to visit last night. His skin had become blotchy, patches of paler green sprinkled over his face. It looked like patches of dead skin. He wondered if Zim had looked in a mirror recently --- but seeing as the Invader still used a toilet to access his lab, and had never really had to actually *use* a bathroom, he doubted it.  
  
It was unusual too that Zim had not awakened as he entered. The fact that the Irken was sleeping was also troubling. He'd never seemed to need it. He'd seen Zim go through days working on one nefarious plot or another through his hidden camera in his labratory, and not once had the Irken stopped for more than five minutes.  
  
The computer system must have been malfunctioning, why else would Zim bother to toss him out physically? It seemed improbable. Zim had always had top of the line equipment when he'd known him. The house had not changed at all from the last time he'd been inside, nearly ten years ago. At the rate that human technology ALONE moved the house would have been terribly outdated. He couldn't imagine how bad it would be for a space faring society as advanced as Zim's was.  
  
Could he have been abandoned here, he wondered. Or perhaps his race had been wiped out, leaving him alone....  
  
These questions got him nowhere, Dib decided, and he'd just have to get them answered through another visit to Zim's base.  
  
********************  
  
"Master, you don't look so well." G.I.R. said quietly.  
  
Zim blinked and froze bent over the motherboard he was trying to repair. G.I.R. never spoke quietly unless it was important anymore.  
  
He had not looked into a mirror for a long time --- not after smashing the last one a few months back. He avoided human waste extraction areas like the plague now.  
  
He looked into his reflection made in G.I.R.'s chrome finish, and blinked. The patches were all over his face now...  
  
He peeled off a glove and found the strange sections there to. He poked at one and was not surprised to find that it flaked away. He'd only molted before when the other planets surrounding Earth aligned correctly... he wasn't due for another in at least another eight and a half Earth months.  
  
These irritations worried him, because now recognized how tired he'd been recently. So wrapped up in his depression and work he'd not paid it much attention. How could he have been so foolish?  
  
There were few diseases that could effect Irkens, and after extensive research he'd found that there really weren't any Human viruses that could do so either... When the sores had first appeared three months ago, he'd determined them a harmless nuisance and continued onward in his work. Now, however, this sudden fatigue, alien to his species practically unless in the most dire of situations, was setting in. The two could not possibly be unrelated.  
  
He would have to return to Irk... the Tallest had not precisely banned him, and they were the only place that would have anyone who could take care of him....  
  
His thoughts seemed to broadcast a message back to Irk, because immediately an 'urgent' message flashing on his computer from Irk. He'd started to ignore the updates from his home planet, unless in the midst of fits of incredible boredom. Reading about home made him want to go there... and what was the point if he were only going to be humilated in the very streets? He'd rechecked his logbooks from previous years, and found that the Tallest had put quite a few of them on the large screen in the arena of Conventia or the Massive. Bad enough that the Tallest despised him, worse still that his whole planet thought him nothing more than a clown!  
  
He had not told the computer to open the message, but it opened on its own, which surprised him.  
  
"Attention: All Invaders. Attention: All Invaders are ordered to return to the Massive immediately for reassigning and or reinstatement. All Invaders ---" Zim snapped off the repeating message.  
  
It was a distress call. What in the many galaxies could possibly be a serious threat to the Irken empire? This worried him, even if he was not on good terms with his fellow species.  
  
"Computer, bring up any news articles in the past six months that could possibly be related to the distress beacon." He ordered the computer.  
  
The computer groaned and whined about aching circuits as it slowly sorted through files, before coming up with a list. At the top was the breaking of the Irken Planetjacker treaty. The Planetjackers had solely been interested in preserving their planet until now. From what he read in the article, their sun had finally become unsalvagable, and now they had transferred their considerable fleet of ships into an invasion force. They had (somehow) determined that where Irk currently resided was the optimal place for *their* planet, and thus the battle had begun.  
  
There had not been a battle between the Irkens and the Planetjackers in nearly a hundred years... and from the horrible Irken casualty lists, they were far more advanced than their forefathers that he'd learned about as a smeet... and even more advanced than when he'd met up with them ten years ago.  
  
It dawned on him that he was suddenly very useful to the Tallest. He had the most recent experience with the Planetjackers... and had actually sucessfully defeated them singlehandedly.  
  
He quickly tried to get a connection up to the Massive, only to find that he was blocked. Scowling, he looked at the entrance to where he kept the Voot Cruiser. He'd not had need to use it in eight years, but using the best technology he could find on this backward mud planet, he'd tried to keep it in the best condition as possible. Theoretically it went faster now, after four years of hard labor that he'd spent building engines of his own design, using the conviently free component specs from Membrane Labs.  
  
He could, if these engines worked, reach the Massive's current location, with luck, on the outside of two weeks. Once he was out of Earth's system, he might even be able to contact the Massive ahead of schedule and assist them...  
  
He was of use again... He was an Invader!  
  
*************   
  
When Zim didn't call in sick or even show up to work for two weeks Gaz became worried. The head designer of their latest game had disappeared at a most inopportune time.  
  
Fortunately for her, she knew someone who could track down Zim. A quick speed-dial assisted call to her brother, and he was out searching like a bloodhound for her programmer...  
  
*************  
  
The base was still standing, much to Dib's relief. The last time he'd gone in search of Zim after a long abscence, all he'd found was a deep hole in the ground. He wondered if that skin cancer of Zim's had possibly killed him. He hoped not, because a two-week rotted alien body was not of much use...  
  
He denied the idea that he'd actually miss the short alien if he'd disappeared again.  
  
He entered the darkened house, and failed to spot Zim. A layer of dust had settled over everything, increasing Dib's worry that Zim really had died...  
  
"HIYA!" Screeched a voice behind him, and he whipped around to spot G.I.R. waving at him. The robot looked like it'd been through some hard knocks, of course it was over a decade old.  
  
"Where's Zim?" He asked, straightening out his coat.  
  
"Master went away." G.I.R. pouted.  
  
"Where?"  
  
"I don't know." G.I.R. shrugged.  
  
Dib nodded, sensing he wasn't going to get anymore information out of G.I.R., and headed towards the toilet that lead to the operation center of the house.  
  
Entering the toilet and flushing himself down the tubes, he recalled how many times he'd fantasized about making it this deep into Zim's labs. If it weren't for all the decaying machinery, Dib would have thought it a dream come true. Now the place just looked sad and lonely.  
  
Entering the main floor he recalled that the computer was voice activated and could interact. Taking a deep breath, he looked around once for Zim, before focussing on the large screen infront of him.  
  
"Computer, locate Zim." He asked.  
  
"Invader Zim is currently off planet." Dib's guts fell.  
  
"When did he depart?"  
  
"Approximately fifteen days, eight hours, nine minutes, and fifty-three seconds ago."  
  
"His destination?"  
  
"To the Massive, currently orbiting planet Irk."  
  
"Computer print me out a copy of the coordinates..."  
  
****************************  
  
Well, finally! The plot's actually moving! Zim's ill and headed towards Irk. War is being waged between the Irkens and the Planetjackers, and why DID Dib ask for the coordinates of Irk? Hmm? Bet you can guess the last one.   
  
Some may wonder about Zim's great leaps in mood, even greater than his usual ones. Let's just say that Zim's more than a little unstable right now, all which will be explained... hopefully, as I don't REALLY have control over this fic. My fingers are just kinda putting stuff down for me. I have no idea, really, what they'll think of next.  
  
And for the five people who reviewed the last two chapters: Poop!soda for you! *breaks out the case and passes them about* Please people, I NEED reviews or I will EXPLODE. Seriously. I'm not joking. If I explode, this story doesn't continue and THEN where will you be? 


	4. Home

AN: I own only the plot here, Jhonen Vasquez and Nickelodeon own all recognizable characters, places, etcetera. I am merely a lowly table-head service drone who's saved up enough monies to buy herself a small clunky computer on which to type.  
  
  
  
Chapter Three: Home  
  
He had left G.I.R. back at the base, because he knew that the robot would only be in the way. This was a mission of the utmost importance, and he needed as few reminders of how he 'used' to be if he wanted it to be a success. The mad robot would only discredit him.  
  
It had, however, been a lonely two weeks without someone to at least annoy him twenty-four seven. He shook his head. He'd been far too polluted by humans, he was starting to think with their disgusting expressions... This would have to change...  
  
He could see the outline of Irk, and a large purple blotch that was most likely the Massive. The planet Irk itself was inhospitable. Too much pollution caused by the society's obsession over snackfoods had destroyed most everything. Irken society had moved onto their ships, the Massive being the largest station of Irken existance. He'd been raised with his creche upon the Massive, trained for Invasion upon the Massive... it was home.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"My Tallest!" Assistant Sporck cried out. "There's an old WSX Voot Cruiser approaching us."  
  
"WSX?" His neighboring assistant cried. "Those things are ancient, how's it still flying? I thought we destoyed those ages ago."  
  
"Apparently one survived." Sporck shrugged. "It's hailing us my Tallest."  
  
"Who is it?" Red snapped, looking up from various battle plans.   
  
"It doesn't say..." Sporck shrugged. "All it's giving is an old creche number..."  
  
"It's one of our Voot Cruisers though, right?" Purple asked. Sporck nodded. "Patch it through."  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
He adjusted his uniform nervously. It was made out of a earth stretchy black material. His traditional Irken uniforms of bright red had worn out over time, and he'd been forced to create uniforms on his own. After much fumbling with horrendous human 'sewing machines' he'd finally created some suitable replacements. He hoped that his Tallest would treat this as a sign of disrespect.  
  
The message on his screen said that the Massive had accepted his request to speak with them, and after pushing the button to activate his second holographic illusion, he hesitantly opened the channel.  
  
The faces of his leaders stared at him blankly, and he was angry, for a moment, that they should forget him. For all that they'd done to humilate him, they could have at least remembered who he was.  
  
"Invader Zim, reporting my Tallest." He said stiffly, adding a salute.  
  
THAT got a reaction of them. They stared at him with horror, and Zim wondered how awful he truly must have been to warrant that sort of look.  
  
"In-invader Zim..." Red gulped, before he gathered himself up from the shock. "What are you doing here, Zim?"  
  
"I recieved an urgent message telling me to return to the home planet, with all the other Invaders. Someone apparently forgot to erase my name from the database." He said with detachment.  
  
"Zim, I'm afraid we have no need of your... 'unique' services at this point in time..." Purple said diplomatically. He was always the diplomat, Zim thought to himself.  
  
"But I think you do." Zim said, lowering an eyelid and gaining a determined look on his face.  
  
"What could **you** do to help us?" Red sneered.   
  
"I am the only one in the last ten years to have come across and defeat the Planetjackers." He said flatly. "It was really quite fortunate that you didn't list me and the planet Earth as part of your conquests."  
  
The Tallest looked to each other nervously. This Zim was different than the crazed irken that they had known. He was cold, calm, and the mad intelligence that had always lurked behind his eyes was now disciplined. He was mildly frightening, dressed in his black uniform. There seemed to be an underlying threat in his appearance, although the Tallest knew that they had nothing to fear. That did not mean, however, that they did not recognize a danger when they spotted it.  
  
"Please, Zim," Red said antagonizingly. "I know you wanted to be an Invader badly... but you've never stooped to lies before."  
  
Something twitched on Zim's face, and Purple felt that perhaps it was not the best thing to mock Zim so casually. He elbowed Red and glared at him.  
  
"I've got a video file that says I did." Zim said, and pressed a button.  
  
"We're recieving the file, my Tallest." Sporck said.  
  
"Play it." Purple said  
  
Sure enough, it was a video taken from one of the cameras installed inside the Voot Cruiser, and although at first it looked like nothing more than Zim's usual antics, the planet Earth was soon free... without the Planetjackers even aware as to what had happened.  
  
"Invader Zim," Red said sharply, taking command. "If you'll please report to the docking bay assigned --"  
  
"My assistance does not come without a price." Zim said sharply, interrupting Red. "I am no longer an Invader, and apparently never was. I have been exiled by your orders. As I am no longer a citizen of Irk, you cannot order me to do anything."  
  
The shock of such disrespect from one of their most loyal servants, silenced Red.  
  
"What do you want Zim?" Purple asked, knowing if he left this to Red that it would only end up alienating Zim more than he already was, and they would recieve none of his assistance, which they desperately needed.  
  
"For you to tell me what is wrong with me." Zim said darkly as he moved to push something on his pack. There was a flicker and a holographic image died revealing the true Zim.   
  
His face was covered with sores, and Purple tried his best to hide a cringe at the sight of him. It suddenly explained so much ---  
  
"Agreed. If you'll report to the docking bay assigned you, the medical staff will meet you there." Purple said, motioning to an assistant to call up the doctors.  
  
"Yes, my Tallest. Zim out." Zim said curtly, before cutting the transmission.  
  
Red, who had been silent for the most part, spoke.  
  
"That disgusting little worm! Purple, why did you accept his assistance? We could have done just fine without him!" He shouted.  
  
"We need all the help we can get. Zim's the only one with good experience with the 'jackers who hasn't **lost**."  
  
"It figures he'd be one of ***them***." Red said with loathing after a moment.  
  
"It's a wonder that we didn't spot it before."   
  
"Hopefully he'll survive just long enough to be useful."  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Dib's skull ached as Zim's insane robot went off on another rendition of what the metallic creature had titled 'The Doom Song'. Dib understood why Zim had left the robot behind now.  
  
His father had been experimenting with space travel for quite some time now, and it was no problem to convince him to let him 'test' a ship. His father was rather oblivious, worse now in his old age, and had mistaken him for an assistant.  
  
What he would do when he eventually arrived on Irk was unknown. He'd obviously stand out as an alien (it was strange to know that suddenly he was an alien...), and he'd come up with no real effective way to disguise himself. He'd think of something, however.  
  
With a sigh he looked at the ETA clock, and found he had at least another week to go.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
The doctors were muttering to themselves as they escorted him down to the medical bay. It was a place he had visited often as a smeet. He'd been highly accident prone in his youth, and the fierce competition fostered by the instructors in training had led to abuse amongst his creche, which he as the shortest, was often a victim of.  
  
Their mumbled chatter, however, made him nervous. Something must be seriously wrong, from the looks on their faces.  
  
"Do you suffer from fatigue, Invader?" one of them asked.  
  
"Yes, and it's Zim." He said without bothering to glance at the speaker.  
  
They continued to mutter, their voices reminding him of those dratted bees on Earth in their swarms.  
  
"What's wrong with me?" He snapped as they entered the medical facilities. They looked at him blankly. "You obviously know something, so what's wrong with me?"   
  
"Inva--" the technician stopped at his glare, and decided to start over. "Zim, I believe you studied, as a smeet, about the Rift?"  
  
Zim nodded, remembering the lesson vaguely... Rifters were revolutionaries trying to overthrow Tallest Miyuki, and stop the invasion of planets. They protested the invasions as un-irkane and wished to devote resources instead to restoring Irk.   
  
"You remember that they contaminated some of the smeets in the Invader Incubation chambers... resulting in hideous and demented Invaders..." the doctor looked hesitant. "We thought we had destroyed them all... they were too dangerous to live. But apparently..." the doctor looked at him nervously.  
  
"One survived. Yes, I understand perfectly." Zim replied. 


End file.
